


juliet, juliet

by orphan_account



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cute, Depression, Fluff, Getting Together, Happily Ever After, M/M, mental health, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 18:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19183111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “We’re like… each other’s moons,” George says. “He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before. And I don’t know what I’m doing about it. But he’s there, and I’m here, and somehow things revolve around him more than they used to."





	juliet, juliet

**Author's Note:**

> sigh idk im sad and tired 
> 
> [heres a song i really like](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usNsCeOV4GM). i kinda wrote this fic to it i guess?

The first week of January is a cold one. A rainy one. A week that George would rather forget. A week that he spends curled on the sofa, counting raindrops on the windows. One that he spends recovering from the New Year’s party Alex had thrown at their flat, and wishing that he was anywhere but here.

Alex had seemed right as rain the morning after, despite having drunk the most, despite having caused the most damage, but he seems content enough to let George live out the week on the sofa, feeling sorry for himself. He doesn’t make any effort to force George off of the sofa, only supplying a steady flow of glasses of water and sandwiches (he’s not even sure how many of them he ends up eating). George feels vaguely guilty, watching Alex clear up streamers and glitter and wipe sticky, spilt beer off of the kitchen counters.

He can’t bring himself to care enough, though. He just sits, watches the rain, doesn’t move from sofa, watches his reflection in the window. He looks like a shell, and the rain makes it look like he’s crying. Maybe he is, maybe it isn’t just rain. He supposes it doesn’t matter, not really.

Not anymore. Maybe not ever. Maybe he’s never cared. How could he, when there are so many things bigger than him? When there are stars and spaceships, and an endless conveyor belt of things he could never be.

They’re nothing more than wax paper dolls, George decides. He’s not even sure he’s the one who decided it, but the thought is pushed into his brain regardless, and he can’t quite push it out again. They are all wax paper dolls, living to die. Picture perfect cut outs on strings, coloured outside of the lines, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

It’s inevitable, he thinks, his heart beating to the same tune as the wind outside. They were born to die, and there’s nothing more to it.  There never will be more to it.

He doesn’t tell anyone about these thoughts, but he knows Alex knows about them all the same. It’s the way his eyes never seem to stray far from him, all dripping worry and drowning in sympathy. It makes George feels like he’s suffocating, but he’s not sure what he would do if Alex did anything else.

He thinks, in a way, it’s good that Alex is here. Even when George is more space dust than human, and he’s untethered from his spacecraft without a suit on, Alex is there. He doesn’t ask, he always seems to know the answers to the questions he doesn’t ask, and when he does ask, he knows the answers before George even says them. 

The first weeks are always the hardest, George thinks. Or at least, they feel the hardest, because he hasn’t gotten used to it yet. Because the first weeks are the ones where suffocation is new and unheard of, and he hasn’t taken a breath. He knows that, eventually, he’ll get used to the mass sitting in his lungs, choking his throat, and clawing out living space in his brain. But the future is always harder to see when his eyes are open, and he’s not quite sure he wants to close them yet.

The first week of January always lasts longer than it should. It drags out it’s sorrows until it’s all George can see, all he can feel and hear and taste. It blurs into the second week, sometimes, raining over and over until he feels stuck. Maybe he is. There’s not much he could do about it, even if he wanted to.

 

=====

 

The second week of January is easier. The skies are less gray, and Alex starts talking to him more.There’s no evidence of parties, nor Christmas, and even if raindrops still draw paths down George’s cheeks, he knows that now they aren’t all his.

“Will’s coming round today,” Alex says, sitting down next to him. George logs the slight jostle of the sofa more than he logs Alex’s presence. “Gonna film some videos. You can film with us if you want. Get back into uploading?”

“Yeah,” George manages to force out, trying to force words past the blockage that always ends up lodged in his throat.

Alex hums, like he knows what’s going on. “Probably just do Reddit stuff. You could always just sit in, don’t have to say much. Easy content, then. You don’t have to, obviously. Just thought… you haven’t uploaded since before Christmas, maybe getting back into the swing of things will make you feel better.”

George just nods. Words are getting stuck in his throat, but Alex sounds like he’s right. He usually is about these things, and George isn’t sure how to feel about the fact that Alex probably knows him better than he knows himself. He feels Alex’s eyes turn to him, dripping concern.

“You alright, mate? You’re really quiet. Well,” he hears Alex breath out a laugh, “more quiet than normal. Maybe we ought to look into therapy. It’s never been this bad before.”

“What,” George starts to say, barely louder than a whisper. He still feels like he’s saying things he shouldn’t, and forcing his throat to work is harder than it ever has been before. “You worried?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, painfully earnest. “Yeah, we all are. I know things can be bad, but none of us have ever seen them this bad. James and Fraser came round last week and you didn’t even notice, G. That’s never happened before, at least not with me.”

He doesn’t remember that. He doesn’t even remember the door opening or closing. The only thing that changed last week was the pattern that the rain made down the window, and thinking about it makes his lungs close up. He doesn’t acknowledge Alex, he doesn’t reply, doesn’t do anything until Alex speaks again, breathing out lowly.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you,” Alex says. “But if this is something that happens now, maybe we should try and fix it for you. Because it seems like you’re living outside of your body, and I don’t know what that means. But I think we should try and do something about it. If that’s something you would be alright with.”

“...Yeah,” George manages to say, after several breathes in and out. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? Why don’t we, um, look at some sites and things later, after Will and I are done,” Alex suggests. “If you want, I’ll get your laptop and you can look yourself, if you’re up for it.”

George nods, picking at his nails. He feels more with it than he has in the past few days. Less like raindrops sliding down the inside of his brain, more like he’s patched up the leak. He’s never considered therapy before, never properly, because it’s never been anything inside the realm of possibility for him.

Alex smiles. George feels it. “Alright. I’ll go get it, then Will’ll be here, and we’ll just be in my room doing videos. So come get me if you need anything, or you want to join in, yeah?” He stands up, unfolding his legs from the sofa. George can see him move out of the corner of his eye.

Alex disappears into his bedroom, but not for long, and returns holding George’s laptop. “Here. It’s full battery, but I can grab the charger if you need it. Or you can. Maybe you could try?” He sets the computer down on the sofa beside George. “I’m gonna buzz Will in, and we’ll be in my room, like I said.”

George nods a yes, an agreement. He doesn’t look up from where Alex put his laptop, but he can hear him pattering around, letting Will in. He doesn’t bother listening to their conversation, he’s not sure he could understand it in the first place. He thinks Will says something about him, but he doesn’t listen. It doesn’t matter, anyway.

There’s something vaguely comforting about hearing lives being lived around him, George thinks. Even when his own sun is crashing and burning and imploding, there’s still star life out there, still lights blinking on in windows. Doors opening and shutting, hearts beating once and then twice and then never again, not for eternity. It’s distracting.

Painful, mostly, and distracting, watching other people make the things he wants to make, and do the things he wants to do and God, God, God, God, please, let him breathe one last time. Let his heart beat for a third, out of sync with the rest of him. 

George finds himself breathing out shakily, and inhaling again like it might be his last. Who knows, it might be, and he’s not sure what’s good about that - whether he’d prefer it to ever breathing again. It’s not raining, not any more, but his brain is still clouded over, his eyes shrouded in a dirty smog.

It splinters ice in his heart. Hot tears drip down his cheeks, and George doesn’t realise they’re there until it’s too late. He hiccups, his heart jumping to his throat and back again until he can’t find it anymore. His lungs burn when he tries to starve off the tears, but it doesn’t work. It never works. Nothing ever fucking works.

He’s tired. And the window is open. 

He’s never thought about it before, never properly. Never like he is now. The window is open, and it isn’t raining, and he’s so tired, and his tears are hot, spilling over his eyelids.

His sun is exploding, imploding, both at the same time. And Alex will always be there to pick up the pieces for him.

 

\-----

 

Somehow, January turns to the beginning of February. George stands in front of his mirror and breathes, and his breath curls out in wisps, and things start to lighten up.

He stops sleeping on the sofa, starts staying up in his room instead. Alex looks relieved, especially so when he starts eating properly again. It’s still dark out, but there are more stars now. Maybe there are less clouds. The doctors call this his healing process, George thinks. He calls it another bump in the road, another cog in the cycle. He’s not healing, because there’s no mending what’s not broken - and he’s not, he’s not broken.

That’s all it’ll ever be. But February is brighter, and Will spends more time at their flat, and Alex spends more time with James. This is just how it goes. This is how it always goes.

“Afternoon, boys,” is how Will greets them now, and his voice always carries. Jarring, and sharp, and dripping in affection and adoration. George can’t get enough of it anymore.

“Hiya, Will,” Alex yells, from the kitchen. Right in George’s ear. Things might be better but he doesn’t want to stray for long, and Alex seems only too happy to indulge him. Will appears at the doorway, and he is every piece of space dust that George always thought he was.

“You alright?” Will asks. George watches him put a plastic bag on the counter and Alex moves towards it like some kind of gravitational pull.

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, digging through the bag already. George supposes it must be for him, and watches Alex pull out dips and tortilla chips and a six pack of beer.

“George?” Will prompts.

“I’m alright,” George says. His voice is still quiet, still feels like he’s speaking into a vacuum. He’s saying words he doesn’t understand, but things get clearer. Things are getting clearer.

Will smiles. “Good. Fancy a hug?”

George feels his lungs breathe out for him. Will knows what that means. Time always passes faster in Will’s arms, and George wishes he knew what that meant for him. For them. Wishes he knew when it would get thrown back in his face. When the rain would start again. When the clocks would restart.

There will always be things he doesn’t know. He’s making his peace with it, he thinks. Accepting that there will always be love stories he doesn’t know, words he cannot read, songs he can’t sing, is harder than George ever thought. But what else is there to do but make peace with it?

 

\-----

 

Will sends him a video about what the universe will be like in the future. They watch it together, hold hands whilst the clocks cross over to March. Will says, “Life is full of improbabilities and impossibilities.”

“How is anything impossible if it’s happened?”

He turns to smile at George. “How do you know it’s happened? That’s what I mean. That’s what I want this video to mean. That life is so short but insufferably long at the same time. We can make of it what we will, you know? This is our lives here, they’re ours for the choosing.”

“It’s insignificant,” George says.

“Maybe to you,” Will says. “Not to everyone. Someone out there will breath in what you’re breathing out. That’s what matters, isn’t it? That one day, we’ll all be broken, beating hearts, and that we’re just prolonging the inevitable here, so why shouldn’t we live while we do it?”

George breathes out. “Is this just you telling me that I need to start living?”

“No,” Will says. “It’s me telling you that we all need to start living again.”

“Again?”

“Why shouldn’t we?” Will replies. It’s not an answer, George knows it isn’t, but it explains enough. He thinks maybe he isn’t supposed to understand, anyway. He watches Will breath in, and he watches the nebulas explode on the screen, and he thinks about how Will is right. Life is short and long and busy, and maybe they should start living again. It’s enough for now, though, George decides.

 

\-----

 

The clocks start back up in mid March. Will’s birthday passes, another year lived. Will doesn’t celebrate outside of drinks at his flat. They play music too loudly, and George feels tears well up in his eyes and he’s not sure why.

He feels his heart start beating again, though. He’s not looking through rose coloured glasses anymore. George thinks it took longer this year, but when Alex looks over at him, and they’re both sitting on Will’s sofa listening to James play ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ and Fraser sing along, he feels alright. Alex sees the clouds lift, and he mouths ‘proud of you,’ at George.

The words get mixed in with the music notes -  George thinks Fraser is singing off key, but it doesn’t matter too much. The tears don’t drip over his cheeks, but they’re not sad tears, so George supposes it doesn’t matter.

Will returns, and he squeezes onto George’s chair with him. Really, he’s too long to sit on George’s lap, and his legs stick over the arm, but neither of them care. Will watches George blink away the tears, and he holds his hand through it all. It’s all George could ask for, really. 

“I missed you,” Will says, whispers. Words just for them. 

“I did too,” George whispers back, and it’s not even a lie. Not today. “Thank you.”

Fraser stops singing, starts humming. Alex joins in, and it sounds like they’re speaking words but George knows they’re not. He watches James smile at them both, watches his fingers flex on the guitar strings. He watches Alex sip from a mug, watches Fraser’s eyes soften. Watches Will look up at him, and he decides that maybe this can be the life he chooses.

“Love you,” Will whispers, almost like George wasn’t supposed to hear it. He can’t whisper it back until the moment is passed, but he squeezes Will’s hand and he seems to get it. Maybe he already knew.

 

\-----

 

“You’re good for each other,” Alex says. “You and Will.”

“Are we?” George asks. The sun is out today, the second of April, and he can hear the traffic through the window left open in Alex’s bedroom. 

“Yeah. You’ve never been this… bright. It’s nice.”

George shrugs. “He just made me realise a few things about living.”

“Like what?” Alex asks. “Is this when you two watched that video last month?”

“I don’t know. Just… stuff,” George says. “It’s not really the sort of thing you tell people, just something you realise.”

“Know what you mean,” Alex says, even though it sounds like he doesn’t. George supposes it means different things to different people. “Are you and Will together?”

George hums. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Does it matter?”

Alex shrugs.

“We’re like… each other’s moons,” George says. “He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before. And I don’t know what I’m doing about it. But he’s there, and I’m here, and somehow things revolve around him more than they used to. Like, you know how when you take a Polaroid? And how you have to shake it to develop the picture? It feels like that sometimes.”

“Your picture is developing?”

George nods. “Maybe it hasn’t even been taken yet.”

“Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Should it?”

“Life is short,” Alex says. “Life is really short. What are a few missing puzzle pieces?”

“Yeah,” George says. “Exactly.”

 

\-----

 

The universe watches them. George stops counting the months and starts kissing Will. The universe breathes with them, beats with them, ebbs and flows and swells to a song that no one else is listening to.

Will whispers things at him, words in a language George has forgotten, but he listens as attentively as ever. Alex tells him that love looks good on him, and George doesn’t know quite what he means, but Will does because he blushes.

He’s happy. George thinks he’s happy. He tells Will he loves him. The rain stops. The rain has stopped for a long time.

George breathes out. Will breathes in. They swing in tandem, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> like i said idk. im sad, and im tired, and life feels really empty right now so i guess this is me projecting lol. i dont know if i like it but here we are anyway. thanks. comment? if u want. love u
> 
> see u next time. kisses


End file.
